


Two Fools West of Chicago

by atqi



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 14:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16934928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atqi/pseuds/atqi
Summary: "You're acting strange." John said warily, his voice soft, slow, careful. It was like staring down his rifle scope at a herd of deer. One false move and he could find himself in the middle of a stampede he couldn't escape. Arthur held his jaw tight. He moved to sit up and turned, looming over him.-A younger Arthur Morgan and John Marston take a job to track down a businessman's mistress and discover an affection for each other on the road that ends up giving them both what they need.All sexual content is 100% consensual and everyone has a good time except for the one guy who gets shot, but that's not during sex.





	Two Fools West of Chicago

John Marston was a damn fool, and everyone around him knew it, between the pair of his fathers, Arthur Morgan, and their newest addition, Javier Esquela. All of them knew it, and John figured that since he knew it too, it was only a matter of time before they ran him out of the gang or worse. Hosea was the feller who had been most decent to him for all his life, but the poor man was in mourning for his beloved Bessie, and so that was how John came to ask Arthur Morgan to take him on a job to robs a stage heading to Chicago.  
“No.” Arthur said flatly. He was working on a pile of bullets that glinted in the dimming sunset.  
“Why not?” John asked belligerently though he already knew the answer and besides, he had already figured Arthur wanted Javier with him.  
“Because you are as stupid as a bag of rocks painted blue, you idiot.” Arthur replied gruffly, though he seemed to be taking some small amount of amusement at the younger man’s begging. “And I ain’t never been on a job that your fool head didn’t cock up some way or another, John Marston, so the answer’s know.”  
“Come on.” John retorted, putting his hands on his belt, “It ain’t like all that, and anyway I’m nearly nineteen and I can’t follow along at Dutch’s heels no more, I need to do some real work.”  
“That most certainly is true.” Arthur chuckled, “But this here is a a job for a big wig up in Chicago who don’t want his mistress to take off with his good silver. It requires a professional touch, boy.”  
John knew he shouldn’t let Arthur calling him that get to him, but he had always been sensitive to insults and besides, he had just made a point of saying his age, even though it was Arthur’s way to call everyone boy, even the horses. In fact the only person John has never heard Arthur call boy was Hosea, as even Dutch seemed to tolerate it.  
“Let me ride lookout then,” he retorted, “or just have me cart along the gear. I’m a good rider, you can’t say I ain’t. I brought more horses in the last time we went to rustle in Nevada, you can’t say I didn’t do that.” Arthur didn’t immediately reply and seemed to be considering it, in that quiet infuriating way he often did. After a minute or so he nodded his head slowly.  
“Sure.” He drawled, and his bright blue eyes seemed to pierce through John. “Could always use another horse to hold the haul.” He put down the bullet he was etching into and pointed the tip of his hunting knife in John’s direction. “But if you fuck this up John Marston, I’ll cut your saddle off and just take the horse back, and you can see what toothless nag you can rustle to get yourself back home. You understand me?”  
It took all of John’s willpower not to snap back at Arthur, instead he just nodded,  
“Didn’t quite hear you.” Arthur said, going back to scoring little Xs in his bullets.  
“Yes, sir.” John replied resentfully.  
“Good.” Arthur reached up and took the hat from his head, setting it down on the log beside him. “Get yourself to bed then, we’re gonna head out at first light. Hopefully you don’t fall asleep in your saddle and tumble off.”  
“Sure.” John replied, and turned away to sulk off back to his bedroll, a thin goat’s hide at the edge of camp, farthest away from the fire.  
As he curled up on the hard earth, he could hear the twang of the Mexican outlaw’s guitar as he began to sing a bawdy rancher’s song. The only word John knew was for ‘tits,’ and Javier said it so many times that he was finally able to fall asleep by counting them.

-

As promised, Arthur and John rode out of their camp just as the first pinkish beams of light had started to peak over the mountains. They were a few days ride from their destination, but they packed light and so it was quick going.  
On the way, Arthur didn’t talk much, though that suited John just fine because it meant the older man wasn’t antagonizing him too bad, except when he teased him for having to take a shit in a cornfield they passed.  
“Remind me not to take any of Hosea’s corn cakes when we get back,” Arthur teased with a toothy grin.  
“Shut up.” John grumbled, fixing his suspenders.  
They took the first evening once they'd arrived in Chicago outside the city, but on the second night they had to bunk up in one of the many crowded flophouses that dotted the slums, managed by a broad shouldered Irishwoman who kept the most enormous shotgun John had ever seen behind the solid wooden desk at the front of the house.  
House? Nothing, it was more stories high than all the buildings in West Fields stacked together, like nothing John had seen before, either. But that was Chicago.  
They woke before morning's first light again on the second day and John had to brush and tack the horses while Arthur chatted up one of the waitresses from the pub under the flop house. Elizabeth or something.  
"You're looking very pleased with yourself, Arthur Morgan." John said glumly, handing over the reins to Arthur's horse to him.  
"I reckon I am." Arthur replied, taking the reins and draping them across his horse's neck. He fished around in his vest pocket for a moment and John caught a glimpse of a red and white striped peppermint between his fingertips that he offered to the horse. The mare was a strawberry roan that Arthur seemed to enjoy the company of more than any other human begin on earth- except perhaps for Miss Elizabeth.  
"Don't look so sour, John, we ain't going to get anywhere with this feller's work if he sees you looking like you just swallowed sheep shit." He patted the neck of his horse and then swung himself up onto his saddle. "It ain't my fault you couldn't get any of the girls at the bar to talk to you."  
John grunted back a wordless reply and pulled himself up into his saddle and off they went, Arthur still smiling and looking very satisfied with himself.  
"Who is this feller we're working for?" John asked, once he had enough of gawking at the electric carriage that ran along rails down the street perpendicular to them (that was a word Dutch had taught him lately, perpendicular, he had gotten it out of one of his Milton books, and Dutch took the opportunity to give him a sermon on men who fell in alignment and men who were perpendicular to the cause).  
"Some banker." Arthur reached up to adjust the dark leather hat on his head. John had never seen him wear any other one. John had forgotten his hat back at the camp and instead had his long thin hair pulled back behind his head.  
"This feller, like most rich fellers, ain't just content with having one woman to disappoint, he had a mistress besides, and the mistress wrote a letter saying he had to let her make off with all his effects or she'd rat him out for bigamy or some such nonsense" Arthur shrugged, "Anyway, this feller is gonna' tell us what way she went and then we go and intercept her and we come away with a big pay day. Big score, Hosea said."  
"He couldn't have written where she was off to in his letter?" John scoffed, "No. Nope. Once again, John Marston, you are not using the limited facilities of that pea-sized brain of yours. He can't put it in writing, you dullard, lest his lady intercept it and use it as proof to the judge about his philandering."  
"I see." John didn't really see anything beyond the crowds of people and the smoke stacks. He would have taken fishing with Hosea to this.  
"Just let me do the talking. Like you said, you're just on along to carry the particulars."  
"Yes, sir, Mr. Morgan, sir-" John drawled, urging his horse into a trot.  
"Where you off to in such a hurry?" Arthur called after him, though John could hear the smug grin on his face,  
"I can't stand to listen to you another minute!" John called back, shaking his head. He arrived at the saloon where he was supposed to meet the client with Arthur a few minutes early and so he set himself up at a table on the far wall, just lingering.  
He stuck out like a sore thumb with his broad brimmed hat and well-worn denim clothing, not because of the rough living, it was just a different kind of rough living. Most of the other folks in the saloon looked like factory workers, with burns and red splotches on their cheeks and chewed up fingertips. It wasn't any kind of living John envied.  
John watched the door. After a few minutes, a tall man with a bristly mustache stepped through the door, looking incredibly conspicuous dressed in a pressed light grey suit with a red necktie. He was just about the easiest mark John had ever made. Heading what Arthur had said, John didn't approach and instead just watched the man amble up to the bar and attempt to order some incredibly expensive whiskey - the bartender took his money and likely just served him well instead.  
Two men and a woman took up a game of cards in a corner of the saloon and John was distracted by them. He watched, amused, as each of them cheated the other, pulling cards out of places in their clothing John never thought you could hide a pocket, peeking at each other's cards, and just generally cheating in ways he hadn't imagined before. Maybe that was his ticket to pulling one over on Esquala and Dutch back at camp.  
One moment he was feeling up his vest trying to figure out where he could put one of those clever card pockets, the next he was hearing Arthur's booming laugh over the din of the Saloon's quiet chatter. John's eyes darted to the bar. Arthur was sitting very close to the client with one hand clapped to his back. To the uneducated eye, it would appear that he and Arthur were great friends, but John knew when Arthur was threatening a man when he saw it. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  
Damn him. Damn him for being so effective.  
John couldn't find fault in his work, and Arthur could always find fault in him, which meant he still had more to learn. Maybe Arthur could be an ally rather than an enemy, someday. that would be easier on John, at least. Less frustrating.  
Arthur rose to his feet and the man at the bar did, too, and John caught for just a moment that the older man's fist was bunched up in the man's suit, yanking him upwards. Arthur turned with the client in tow and nodded, which John took as his cue to get up from his seat.  
"Don't you worry now, Mr. Charles Wallace." Arthur said as he ushered him out the door onto the street. John stepped out and was momentarily distracted as a massive street sweeping carriage raced by, belching black smoke, the horses pulling it wore big black leather blinders, but John caught a glimpse of the stark white whites of their eyes as them hemmed and hawed and heaved forward with the tremendous weight.  
"John!" Arthur snapped, and John turned his head and saw that Mr. Wallace was already scuttling down the road away with the two roughnecked devils he had thrown in with. Arthur was seated atop his horse with a frown set in his brow and the lines around his mouth.  
"Let's go!" John scrambled forward and leaped into the saddle of his own horse, and they headed down the street. It wasn't until they had made it out of the city past the cramped buildings full of humanity that Arthur spoke again,  
"Well, we got the first part of the cash that Dutch said he'd give us, but we're gonna have to actually track down this mistress if we want the rest- Hosea was hoping this feller might be dim enough to pay us all up front and then we could just ride home."  
"Jesus." John shook his head, "He doesn't have a lot of confidence in this man's intelligence."  
"If he was intelligent he wouldn't have let a woman twist his head all around like this." Arthur urged his horse into a trot. "Anyway, we got a good idea of where she was headed, so we go this way for a day's ride and then hopefully she's holed up in one of the towns out on the edge of the city. If not, suppose we'll have to send our apologies by mail and be content with thirty dollars."  
John leaned over to spit off the site of his horse, then wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand. They rode through most of the morning, passing by men constructing a new paved road down along the country road that took them out of Chicago, past a factory with two big smokestacks, though it seemed to have not been started up again.  
"City seems like it reaches out more and more every time we come." John remarked as they passed over an old wooden bridge that was being replaced with steel beams by a pair of surly men with bright red faces who nevertheless had the good sense to stay silent in the presence of one gunslinger and one young idiot armed to the teeth. "Spreading out like a cancer across the land."  
"What do you know about cancer?" Arthur scoffed, reaching down to pat the neck of his horse.  
"I know it killed my pa- or it would have if he didn't get shot. The doctor said it was all inside him, twisted around everything." John paused to think, "Maybe that's what made him such a mean bastard."  
"Maybe, it's what made you a bastard, too." The older man shot back, but there was less of a bite to his words than usual, John noticed. They rode on until the sun had disappeared into the horizon ahead of them, and then a little more until last Arthur pulled his horse over to the side of the road, dismounted, and began to unpack the tent from his saddle.  
"Go and get some firewood, not too much but make sure it's quality." He said, handing a hatchet with a red handle over to John.  
"What are you doing?" John asked, taking it.  
"Putting up the tent."  
"That's a two man job."  
"Not for me it ain't, now get." John grumbled and went to hitch his horse to a nearby stump, then tromped out into the muddy forest to fell one of the good oak branches. When he returned to the campsite the tent was up and Arthur already had a fire going. John dropped the logs he had cut onto the dirt, and they squelched as they landed beside his boots.  
"God damn you, Arthur Morgan, what was that about?" He asked, and tossed the hatchet down, embedding it in the stump and causing his horse to let out a resentful (but sleepy) whinny. Arthur was seated by the fire holding a tin cup of whiskey with a self-satisfied smile on his face. He looked up at John and grinned,  
"Sorry, partner, I forgot I had some already rolled up with the tent. Now get that sour look off your face and get a drink and some of this dried venison. You look like a frog's sitting in your mouth with that expression."  
"And you're the frog." John replied resentfully, but he took a seat in the packed dirt in front of the fire opposite from Arthur. He pulled off his gloves and held both hands up to the fire, then rubbed his palms together. After a moment he took the tin cup out of his pack and poured a little of the water Arthur had boiled for himself. His nose twitched at the taste and scent of it.  
"Is that.. mint?" John asked, and Arthur still looked pleased with himself, but not quite as much of an ass about it.  
"It is. I found a cluster of it while you were taking your sweet time in the cornfield." Arthur replied, pulling off a piece of the venison jerky. He held it out to John as he continued, "A Chinese feller showed me how to make it once while I was waiting to sell a couple pelts.  
John wanted to retort but the mint had warmed up his chest so he took the jerky without complaining. They both sat for a while, with no sound except for the sound of the crackling fire between them. John usually ate and drank like a bird except for the times when he drank whiskey, but tonight he finished his small amount of tea and then reached to fill his cup completely, trying not to look shy as he did it, though he could feel Arthur's eyes on him.  
"You got a strange way about you." Arthur said finally. "You're stubborn and resentful, you know it, Hosea knows it, Dutch knows it, though he's much more patient than I would be."  
"Well, you're a mean prick." John replied, casting his eyes downward. He braced himself for more insults, but they didn't come.  
"Hell. We're all stubborn fools. But when we get cash in our pockets it doesn't much matter." Arthur paused, and then, "-and we will get paid for this job, don't you worry. So don't be so sullen." He stretched out his arms to his sides and rose slowly to his feet, taking the hat off his head as he turned in towards the tent. John finished his tea and rose to join him, but Arthur turned back towards him, eyebrows raised,  
"Where are you going?" He asked,  
"In the tent." John replied. Arthur shook his head,  
"You sleep scout." He said, gesturing towards the fire, "And take care of putting that out so the horses don't burn themselves to death."  
John fixed Arthur with a sour look but nodded, turning away to take his pack off of his horse. Why should he be surprised or angry? Arthur was Arthur, even if he was kind for just a moment.  
John gave the neck of his horse a firm pat, then tucked his bedroll under his arm and went to lay it out before the fire. He stared at the moving flames for a moment, then looked between the tent and Arthur's metal carafe sitting beside the fire. After waiting a few minutes, assured Arthur wouldn't return, John reached out his foot and nudged the carafe's lid open with the tip of his boot. Then he stood over the carafe, took out his dick and pissed in it. When he'd finished, he fastened his jeans and crouched down, picked up the carafe, and used it to pour his piss out over the fire. Then he took the carafe and neatly packed it away on Arthur's saddle with his things.  
As he stretched out across his bedroll on the ground looking up at the night sky, the air with a hint of the smell of ashes and piss, it occurred to him that while Arthur Morgan was a son of a bitch, he was too.

-

Outside of Chicago was rough country, but still pretty damn civilized, in John's opinion. It would take a full three day's ride to actually be out on open dirt road where there were no laborers working on buildings big enough to make his head spin.  
"Hold up." Arthur said, raising his hand and slowing his horse as they pulled up to a narrower road that cut through a small ridge peaking over the horizon line.  
"What is it?" John asked, urging his horse to the side of the road beside Arthur's. The older man posted up on his saddle, standing up in his stirrups as he pulled his binoculars from his satchel.  
"A feller I talked to when we stopped at that last watering hole said he had seen a lady as fitting our client's description of his mistress." Arthur explained, peering through the binoculars at the ridge. After a few moments he let out a soft grunt,  
"Arthur?" John prodded, and Arthur took down his binoculars, paused, then reluctantly handed them over to John, who held them up to his eyes.  
"Look out to just below where the sun is gonna start to set." Arthur explained, sitting back down in his saddle. He leaned forward, folding his arms over the horn. "Looks like a small amount of smoke, maybe a single campfire, for either a single woman or maybe a woman travelling along with some poor fool she roped in for her protection.  
"Yeah, I see it." John replied, though he really didn't. He lowered the binoculars and held them out to Arthur. "We gonna ride up ahead there, then?" He asked,  
"Sure." Arthur nodded and nudged his horse forward, and John followed. "Keep quiet as we go forward, there ain't a reason why this lady would know we're after her, except that we're a couple of rough lookin' outlaw degenerates." The older man grinned and kicked his horse into a trot. "So let's try to approach real calm like."  
"Whatever you say." John shrugged. Sometimes he didn't understand the childlike glee with which Arthur took to deception. It seemed to him that there was nothing worse than telling a lie, and that Hosea had taught Arthur that same as him, except he seemed to adapt to it like a fish being let go back into a stream. They rode forward on the road for another few minutes, far enough that John finally could actually see the smoke coming from the campfire ahead of them.  
"It ain't too far from the road." John said softly, "So I reckon if we just move forward we can be up on them."  
"Ayup." Arthur replied, "But keep quiet."  
"Yes, sir." John rolled his eyes behind his back. They moved forward more until eventually the campfire came into view. John could see two figures and their horses camped up beside the fire, which was burning very low.  
One of the figures was just a man dressed in a plain cowhide jacket, but the other was obviously a lady wearing a very ostentatious hat with a fluffy white feather, the largest John had ever seen. Hard to imagine the bird that it could have come off of.  
"Good evening!" Arthur called suddenly, diverting his horse towards the campfire. John looked at his back sharply, let out a disbelieving breath, then followed suit. They dismounted their horses well away from the fire, then walked towards it. Arthur seemed to affect the demeanor of a cowboy out of some kind of penny novel, moving his legs and hips like it had been a decade since he was actually off of his horse. And when he spoke, it was like he was missing half of his his tongue.  
"Hello, folks." Arthur greeted the two figures by the fire as he stepped away from his horse. "Ya'll having a good night?"  
"Sure," The man at the fire replied warily.  
"Well, hello." Arthur continued, "I'm Arthur, and this here is my travelling companion, John. He's real slow so don't worry that he don't talk. We're coming out of town and we spotted you folk's fire and figured we might save ourselves some effort if you were willing to share for a spell. We've both been riding hard since Indianapolis. You ever been to Indy, feller?"  
"I have not." The man said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "Listen, mister, I ain't sure if-"  
"Jonathan, don't be a boar!" The woman exclaimed, "Yes, gentlemen, I think we can share the milk of human kindness for one evening!"  
"Thank you very much, ma'am." Arthur replied with a wide smile and a nod. He and John took a few minutes to take the tack off of their horses and then brushed them down. John rubbed his hands briskly over the stubble on his chin and then took a seat at a log laid out across from the fire, and Arthur took the seat beside him.  
"You boys look like you've seen some hard living." The woman said, holding onto her skirts daintily, almost preening. The man beside her was looking more and more nervous by the minute, but John could tell that she had him well in hand, he wasn't going to make a move without her say so. it was almost funny to see.  
"Well we been up in Chicago for a few days just trying to get ourselves in order before we make our way across the Rockies to Oregon." Arthur explained, and it was difficult for John not to watch him in disbelief. Lying came so naturally to the other man, he was almost as good as Hosea.  
"Oh, I see." The woman nodded her head and the big feather bobbed along with her. "If you waited until next summer you could take the railroad, you know. They say the railroad will stretch all the way across the country by next year's time."  
"You believe that, ma'am?" Arthur chuckled,  
"I will when I see that." She amended. "Pardon our manners, gentlemen. My name is Charlotte DuBois, and this is Mr. Jonathan Wells. Mr. Wells is escorting me to Minneapolis." She smiled back at Arthur, a slight crinkle around her big brown eyes. She was pretty, John thought, and she carried herself like some kind of queen. John could see how a man could lose his head over her. Though John had seen men lose their minds over a woman with a face like a horse's backside, and no more pleasant to talk to than one, so he figured there was something about women that he just didn't see that could drive a man to ruin.  
"Two folks on the road all the way to Minneapolis?" Arthur echoed, "Well, shoot, ma'am, don't you think you ought to have a little more protection than one hired gun?"  
"Now see here-" Mr. Wells began to protest, but Charlotte shushed him.  
"Now, now. Arthur here is quite right. There are plenty of hazards between us and Minneapolis. But I'm afraid I was only able to afford the company of Mr. Wells, given that he is quite experienced and so commands a premium rate."  
"I see." Arthur folded his hands over his lap and leaned forward. The crackling campfire warmed his face in some places but cast odd shadows across it in others. By changing focus he could look either inviting or sinister, and perhaps that was his intent. "Are you a gunslinger, Mr. Wells?" he asked, humor to his voice, as if such a thing would be absolutely absurd.  
Wells stood up from the fire and John moved to stand, too, but Arthur stopped him with a hand. "I don't appreciate what you're implying." Wells sputtered in protest. "I think you two had best move on."  
"And miss the chance to see how well you do at protecting Miss Dubois, here?" Arthur laughed, his voice cracking like the snap of sparks being sent up from the campfire.  
I know my way around a revolver." Wells spat. "Know well enough to deal with two cowpokes like the two of you."  
John snorted, "Cowpoke?" He echoed. "We look like ranchers to you, buddy?"  
"I'm sure I don't know what you look like." Wells' brow furrowed in John's direction, "Nothing respectable, surely."  
"In that regard you are right." Arthur stood up and pulled his revolver from his belt in one swift motion, cocking back the hammer with a heavy click. Wells went start white like a day lily and held up one hand towards Arthur, palm facing out.  
"Now wait just a-"  
BANG  
A bright red circle blossomed almost directly between the hired gun's eyebrows, then his eyes rolled back and he toppled back in the same direction. John looked sharply towards Miss Dubois, but she hadn't moved a muscle, and was still smiling mildly, her hands folded over her skirts in the same position.  
"I suppose Charles sent you." She said, once the gun-smoke had cleared. Arthur nodded and slipped his revolver back into its holster, then took a seat at the fire once more.  
"I'm afraid he has, Miss Dubois. Now, he wants us to bring you back to him, but I figure he has all manner of unpleasantness planned for you, and I can't rightly allow you to be subjected to that, seeing as how polite you've been. I figure you give us part of the money you stole and the personal effects you took from his house, we keep the money and send the personal effects back to Charles, and it'll all be squared away." The slightest line appeared on Miss Dubois' forehead as she seemed to consider Arthur's offer.  
"I suppose I don't have any choice." She sighed. "I was looking forward to the price I'd get for the rubies."  
Arthur held out both hands in an almost regretful posture, "I'm awful sorry, ma'am. A job's a job."  
"Will you have enough to travel on without it?" John asked quietly.  
"Ah, what a gentleman!" Charlotte exclaimed, "Yes, dear boy. I'll be quite alright. I have a paramour waiting for me in Minneapolis, after all."  
"And you can sell Mr. Wells' horse, too." Arthur pointed out helpfully, "An' anything he has on his person, I figure you're entitled to it since you won't be getting his services."  
"How very decent of you," Charlotte replied, "Well, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me.." She stood up from her seat and paused to stoop over the deceased Mr. Wells, rummaging through his pockets. Then she went and unhitched their horses, hopping up onto the saddle- not side saddle as befitting a woman of her station, but astride it.  
She kicked her horse into a gallop and whistled for Mr. Wells' horse to follow as well, and soon she was barely a spec on the horizon. John turned, looking at Arthur as if the older man had grown a second head,  
"What was all that?" He asked the other man, bewildered, "You're just letting her go?"  
Arthur shrugged, "She left behind all her bags with the heirlooms. Client didn't really want her back that bad, just wanted the jewels."  
"I don't know," John sat forward, letting the tension go out of his shoulders. "I don't understand you."  
"That's your problem," Arthur replied, "You're trying to think too hard and too much, and that just ain't what your mind is suited to. Now we got the money and we don't have to worry about carting that lady back to Chicago like proper villains, instead we can just post the portraits back for Charles and say the jewels got lost in the post. Happens all the time."  
"But she went off on her own." John protested, "Unprotected. She ain't gonna last more than a day there out by herself."  
"She ain't going to Minneapolis." Arthur scoffed, "She's gonna ditch her clothes and go straight back to Chicago. Listen," He fished inside his jacket and pulled a half-empty box of cigarettes, wedging one between his teeth at the corner of his mouth. "That lady is a natural born huckster just like Hosea, you just can't see it because she was pretty and you're simple-minded."  
"I'm not." John grunted. He glared at Arthur briefly, then looked across the fire to where the woman and her dead trigger man's tent was already set up. "What you want to do with the body? Burn it?"  
"Naw. It's cold enough, just leave it." Arthur took his cigarette and lit it off of one of the embers of the campfire, then rose up to his feet, crossing to the tent. He poked a hand inside the tent and pulled it open, stooping over to peek inside, "Looks like some decent hide bedrolls in here. Better than ours."  
John tried not to grumble and instead leaned back sullenly. "Well sure, take it all up. I'll take the bedroll out here."  
"Don't be simple. It's freezing. We'll put the bedrolls over the horses and you get in the tent."  
That surprised John, and he couldn't help but think that it was some kind of trick from Arthur. But no, after they took care of bedding down the horses, Arthur clamored into the tent and stretched out onto one of the bedrolls, leaving space for John.  
John crawled inside and laid on his back, tipping his hat forward to cover his face. He could hear Arthur shift beside him. The air in the tent smelled like tobacco and leather, with a hint of Charlotte DuBois' sweet perfume.  
"We finished up sooner than we told Dutch and Hosea we would be back." Arthur said after a while, his voice thick and sleepy. "We could ride out to the Dakotas if we wanted, then be back by when we said we'd be back at camp." John snorted,  
"What's up in the Dakotas?" "Mountains. Beautiful country. Some fools who could be easily parted with their money."  
"I don't know-" John yawned, "That wasn't the plan."  
"Since when do you listen to what you're told, John Marston?" Arthur asked, chuckling softly. John heard a hiss as the older man turned and stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt. A few seconds later, Arthur let out a low whistle. "Would you look at that." He said, and John nudged his hat back, Arthur was holding one of those cards that sometimes came in the packs of good cigarettes.  
"You still holding on to those?" John asked, trying not to look too interested. The card had a photo of a boxer on it, a big Italian man with a thick black mustache and glossy hair slicked back with so much grease that his hair had one big glossy line of light reflecting against it. The man was so large and muscular that it gave the appearance that his form was too large to fit on the card.  
"Look at this feller. Big as a horse. Makes a man feel a kind of way." Arthur nudged John with his elbow and he shifted away,  
"Shut up." John said with a scowl, cramming his hat back down over his face again.  
Arthur grinned to himself and tucked the card away inside his jacket, then shifted onto his back, folding his arms across his chest.  
John let out a huffing breath, glaring at the tent before turning towards the older man, "You're always teasing me." He said plaintively, taking in the sight of the other man's face in the low light. He could just barely see a sliver of the stubble on Arthur's jaw from the piece of moonlight that got through the opening to the tent. When he didn't stop him, John continued on complaining,  
"I ask if I can come along because I'm trying to pull my weight and you say yes but then call me an idiot every step of the day." John grunted,  
"You always treat me like a burden, but that ain't true. I could have had a draw on that feller if you had just told me what your plan was." He was silent for a moment, pressed his lips together in a thin line and felt them tremble, then he continued, "You always- I ain't a kid." He sputtered, then fell silent again, his shoulder pressed firmly to the pack rolled out on the firm ground. It was silent between them for a while, it couldn't have been more than a minute but to John it felt like the whole night could have passed before Arthur spoke,  
"I know you aren't a kid. You just act the damn fool sometimes- too often. Hosea and Dutch try to teach you the right way to do things and you just take off like a headstrong horse." Arthur shifted on the pack and turned his head and one shoulder towards John, propping himself up on one elbow, "I'm trying to help you, help you get strong. Because if you don't you aren't going to last and I'm not going to be able to save you."  
"Save me from what?" John scoffed.  
"The world out there-" Arthur gestured with his arm towards the front of the tent, "The whole damn thing. You think you're ready for it but you're not. You should be but you're not. You're a man now, the world isn't going to be kind or wait to learn."  
Suddenly, John felt Arthur's palm and fingers pressing against his jaw, the older man grasped his face firmly and kept his head turned towards him. John inhaled a sharp breath. He could feel Arthur's callouses brushing against his stubble, feel the strength and the tension in his grip. He reached up one hand and grasped Arthur's wrist, holding firmly, though he couldn't wrap his fingers all the way around it.  
"You're acting strange." John said warily, his voice soft, slow, careful. It was like staring down his rifle at a herd of deer. One false move and he could find himself in the middle of a stampede he couldn't escape. Arthur held fast to his jaw. He moved to sit up and turned, looming over John,  
"I'm not." He murmured, "That lady who seemed so refined would have had both of our necks if I hadn't gotten rid of that feller. I could see it in her eyes. Our friend Charles was lucky he escaped from her with his balls and his life, let alone his valuables." He leaned in closer and John could feel the warmth of his breath on his face, his lips. His whole body felt paralyzed. He wasn't afraid of Arthur, not exactly. Just this strange side of him, it was unnerving.  
"I don't- what do you want from me, Arthur?" John stammered, trying to keep the anxiousness out of his voice. He didn't think the other man would hurt him, not intentionally, but this was one of those times when he was acutely aware of what Arthur was capable of - like shooting a man after taking up a seat at his fire.  
"I want you to stay safe and be smart." Arthur replied, and lunged forward, crushing his mouth against John's. For a split second, John was shocked, but the next moment he was reaching up both arms, wrapping them around Arthur where he could, his hands curling into the thick, rough leather of his jacket.  
Arthur pressed down against him, his chest heavy on John's as he kissed him. John gradually worked one hand up and curled his fingers into Arthur's hair, gripping tightly.  
Just as quickly as he started, Arthur pulled back slightly, only just freeing John's lips. He could still feel Arthur's lips brushing against his as he spoke, "Alright, John?" He asked.  
"What?" John replied incredulously, rendered flushed and breathless by the sudden passion.  
"I mean, do you want- this?"  
John let out a wordless sputter, swallowed his next breath, then shook his head,  
"How can you ask me that?" He demanded, and squeezed his hand in Arthur's hair. "Of course."  
Arthur's mouth tasted like stale coffee, that was the first thing John noticed. The second thing he noticed, of course, was the hand curled into the front of his shirt, the arm slung around his shoulders. Arthur's thick gloves made his firm grip feel warm and protective, and the brim of his hat cast both of their faces in shadow. John didn't get much of a chance to respond before the older man pulled back, just enough to meet his gaze with an intense glare, brows furrowed, the lines etched around his mouth deep from his pursed lips.  
"Don't you ever ask a fool thing like that again." Arthur rumbled, and John nodded.  
"I'm alright." He replied, feeling his breath catch in his throat, the soreness in his side.  
"I know that, John, I- damn." The older man seemed to hold him even more tightly. "I buried so many. I've seen so much death. I can't watch you too, you hear?" He paused only momentarily, "Answer me, boy."  
"I'm trying, I-" John began to protest, but then Arthur was surging forward, kissing him hard on the mouth again. He turned his hand and his rough palm cradled the back of John's neck.  
It was hard not to feel overwhelmed. Arthur seemed to be trying to hold onto him as tightly as possible, and John wasn't sure if he would ever let him go. Still, it was warm and comforting, and John found himself leaning into the embrace, folding both arms against Arthur's broad chest, tipping his head slightly to kiss him back.  
The kiss quickly turned to a more aggressive mix of tongues and teeth, and suddenly Arthur didn't seem quite so concerned with treating John as something delicate. Instead, he pushed the younger man back sideways until he was pressing against the side of the tent.  
John heard a soft sound as the hat tipped off of Arthur's head and fell onto the ground, but didn't have any time to tease him about it, because both of Arthur's hands were sliding down to his chest, roughly opening the front of his vest and then his shirt.  
"John-" Arthur panted, pushing open the fabric, "John-" He repeated his name over and over until it was muffled by him pressing his lips to John's neck, and then just below the hollow of his throat. John groaned and put both hands on Arthur's shoulders.  
He didn't push, but the older man sunk down along his body all the same, both of them on their sides on the bedrolls. He felt a fumbling of hands around his hips, then a tug around his waist as the front of his jeans were pulled open. Then Arthur's mouth was on him again and he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a guttural moan.  
He curled his fingers tightly into the shoulders of Arthur's coat, but then the fabric shifted and he tugged it off, letting the heavy sheepskin slip off. John found himself desperate to be touching Arthur's skin, and he pushed his hands past the collar of his shirt, only touching him for fractions of an inch, but he could feel that the other man's skin was flushed and hot.  
Arthur began to suck his cock in earnest and John felt his stomach tighten.  
"Arthur-" He groaned, doubling over. He curled a fist in his hair and thrust his hip forwards towards the tight heat. They went on like that for a minute, Arthur sucking his cock and John trying to hold on for dear life as his knees started to feel like trembling reeds.  
A few seconds later Arthur drew back with one hand wrapped firmly around the base of his length, stroking him in long, languid strokes.  
"You're trembling like a day lily," He teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.  
"S-shut up." John groaned, "Y-you do a thing like that and expect me to be like stone?"  
"Oh some part of you is, that's for sure." Arthur replied, and John's face burned hot. He opened his mouth to issue a retort but Arthur was face to face with him in an instant. He slung an arm around John's waist and hauled him around, tugged off the rest of his clothing, then climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and kissing him hard.  
Arthur wasn't exactly gentle, but that wasn't what John wanted, anyway. Both men took from each other what they needed, and in the end they both collapsed onto the ground in a pile of tangled limbs and heaving chests. John pushed a hand through his sweat damp hair, looked at Arthur beside him and tried to shift away, thinking the older man would want space after their quick romp. But instead, Arthur shifted up against him and gathered him in his arms, still nuzzling and kissing at his neck.  
"You're ridiculous-" John panted, but he wrapped both hands around Arthur's forearms.  
"And you're a fool," Arthur smiled against his skin.

-

John rose the next day early in the morning. The inside of the tent was dark and still warm, and he could feel Arthur's chest pressed up against his back, his arm over his chest weighed him down. John considered getting up, but decided against it. Instead he stayed in a kind of lazy half-sleep, just feeling the soft downy sensation of the bedroll beneath him, and the slow motion of Arthur's breathing. The gentle movement was hypnotic, and John dozed off and rose again at least twice before he felt Arthur shifting against him as he woke up.  
"Mm." Arthur rumbled, and John felt his warm breath on the back of his neck. He didn't speak, just shifted forward and pressed up against him more firmly, sliding his palm up his arm to his shoulder. He gave John a squeeze, pressed a kiss to the crook of his neck, and then sat up.  
"Morning." John said softly, his voice hoarse.  
"Good morning." He heard a soft flicking sound and then a soft crackle as Arthur lit up a cigarette. John shifted onto his back and looked up at him, just taking him in, bathed in the golden glow of the morning that filtered through the tent. Arthur moved again and John thought it meant he was leaving the tent, but instead he rolled over, propping himself up between John's legs, one arm propping him up beside his head, the other on the cigarette.  
"You look like a wanton man, John Marston." Arthur murmured, blowing a small plume of smoke from the corner of his mouth. Then he took the cigarette from his lips and offered it to John, who took it.  
"Same to you." John replied, and took a puff. He took the cigarette between his fingers and tipped his chin up insistently, and Arthur smiled wide, then leaned in to kiss him long and slow. He left John with the cigarette when he sat back and lit up another for himself.  
"You want coffee?" He asked, and John nodded, then caught himself.  
"Uh. Maybe not." He said slowly, shaking his head.  
"Alright. More for me." Arthur shrugged, then moved to get up.  
"Wait-" John reached up a hand to his arm, grasping firmly.  
"What is it?" Arthur looked down with him with a frown. Then another smile formed on his face again. "You need more?"  
John took another puff on the cigarette and thought about it for a second, then nodded.  
"Yeah." He replied, "As much as you can give me."  
Arthur chuckled and reached out, tugging the tent fully closed again.


End file.
